


Of Anesthesia, Kabocha, and Masochism

by myn_x



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kuroo tries to be a Responsible Adult, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining Kuroo, Quasi-post-canon drabble that turned into a fic, Swearing, Wisdom Teeth, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myn_x/pseuds/myn_x
Summary: Kenma gets his wisdom teeth out, and he says some things Kuroo hopes he won't remember.





	1. Chapter 1

_So this was how you got Kenma to giggle,_ Kuroo thought. He couldn’t believe it took anesthesia and four teeth.

“I live with _Kuro?_ In an _apartment?_ ” Kenma slurred, swaying in the passenger seat. His hair was stringy and rumpled, his cheeks were swollen, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. The ice pack wrapped around his face made him seem small and vulnerable, and his dingy T-shirt hung off his shoulders like a sheet. Two puffs of cotton gauze peeked out the corners of his mouth.

Kuroo scattered a series of worried glances on Kenma as he drove. “Yes, you live with Kuroo.”

“I can’t believe I live with Kuro.” After another giggle, Kenma paused, touching his fingertips to his cheeks. His movements were slow and jerky as if the air around him were viscous, like...

Kabocha soup. Kuroo wondered if they had any squash.

“Wha’ in my mouth?” Kenma was nearly unintelligible despite his efforts to enunciate each word. “Why are my cheeks so —” he hiccuped “— so _puffy?_ ”

Kuroo sped up a little. He had to get Kenma home. The doctor said it’d be a couple hours before the anesthesia wore off, and Kuroo wanted to make sure he was comfortable. Safe. Tucked under his favorite blanket that Kuroo had gotten him for his birthday two years ago. Pain meds swallowed and music lulling him to sleep.

“You know, Kuro is my best friend. My best, best friend. He is so nice and calls me ‘kitten’ and his hair is so ridiculous and I, and I.” Kenma paused and shook his head. “I — I can’t feel my tongue, did they take my tongue too? Is my tongue with the teeth they, they stole from me?”

“No, silly kitten, you still have your tongue.”

“No, no I don’t, it’s gone!” Tears pooled in Kenma’s eyes. “I can’t kiss Kuro if I don’t have a tongue! We have to go back and get it!”

Kuroo nearly slammed on the brakes. _It’s just the anesthesia_.

 

Under different circumstances, Kuroo would have been recording Kenma. Getting his hysterics on tape. Laughing.

They’d known the loopiness would come. They’d even watched a few videos yesterday to help with Kenma’s nerves. This should be funny, the way Kenma was behaving. The pangs in Kuroo’s chest said otherwise. _But it’s just the anesthesia_.

Kenma was sobbing and pulling at his face, and Kuroo took a corner a little too fast, pulling into the first spot he saw.

He reached over to draw Kenma’s hands away from his face. Gently, he said, “You’ve still got your tongue, little one. You just can’t feel it because of the medicine.”

Kenma shook his head and mumbled something incoherently, tears sparkling in his eyes and spilling over, and then Kuroo was at Kenma’s door, unclicking his seatbelt.

Kenma raised his shaky hands to his mouth, pulling at his limp tongue. He said something that sounded like, “Where’s my tongue?” looking up at Kuroo with darkened eyes. His too-huge pupils swallowed his irises. Rings of shimmery gold encircled black. Twin eclipses.

Kenma tugged the gauze from his right cheek and stared down in horror at the crimson-stained cotton. “See? I told you, they took my tongue, and I’m bleeding because they took my tongue!” he half-yelled.

“Shh, kitten, they didn’t take your tongue.” Kuroo pulled down the sun visor, sliding the mirror open. He angled it and tilted Kenma’s chin up so that he could see that his tongue was where it was supposed to be, that he was intact minus four troublesome teeth.

Kenma pulled at his tongue.“I theel thunny.” Another hiccup.

“I know.”

Kuroo watched as Kenma poked at his tongue, gaze sliding over the shiny tear tracks on his red, puffy cheeks, which the ice pack didn’t quite hide, to his unbelievably cute runny nose, and finally resting on his still-kissable chapped lips.

“Here, let’s put that gauze back in,” Kuroo said, reaching for the clump of discarded cotton in Kenma’s lap.

Kenma didn’t seem to hear him; he kept poking and prodding at his tongue, which hung out of his mouth at an angle.

“Open your mouth for me, Kenma.”

Kenma turned to look at him, slowly, like he didn’t want to make himself dizzy. His eyes danced a little before settling on Kuroo’s mouth. “Are you an angel? Am I dead?”

Kuroo chuckled, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “No, kitten. I’m human and you’re very much alive, just a little doped up, is all. C’mon. Open wide.”

“Then why are you —” Kenma’s head lolled to the side, and Kuroo could barely hear the rest of his sentence, “— so _hot_?”

“Open. Ahhh,” Kuroo said, opening his own mouth and raising the cotton to Kenma’s cracked lips. He needed some water.

Kenma tilted his head back to Kuroo, his mouth hanging open. Kuroo nudged the cotton back into place, then Kenma’s lips closed around his finger, quivering with a giggle.

Kuroo froze, not sure what to do with his finger in Kenma’s mouth — he wasn’t biting down, just gently trapping his finger between his lips — and his dark, dark eyes heavy and fixed on his own.

 _Gods, please_.

Kenma laughed then, Kuroo’s finger falling out of his mouth. He shook his head back and forth. “You look just like Kuro!” he said, raising a hand to poke Kuroo in the chest.

“Alright, that’s enough, Kenma. Why don’t we go inside? To the apartment so I can —”

“The apartment!” Kenma clutched at Kuroo’s shirt, laughing some more, like it was the funniest thing that he lived in an apartment.

Kuroo gripped his wrists, pulling his hands back so that he could scoop Kenma up, one arm under his knees and the other across his back and under his left arm.

Kenma didn’t resist, instead snuggling into Kuroo’s chest. He reached up to tug at the black tuft of Kuroo’s bangs before reaching further to run his hands through his unkempt hair.

In that moment, Kuroo was glad that Kenma was senseless. That he would very likely not remember any of this. Would not remember the way his fingers teased at Kuroo’s hair. Would not remember the feel of Kuroo’s heart beating bruises into his ribcage. Which Kenma would remember, if not for the aftereffects of the anesthesia.

“I love Kuro! I love him, I love him, I love him!” Kenma said between sniggers. “I love my Tetsu.”

Kuroo resisted the urge to clamp his hand over Kenma’s mouth. He didn’t want to hurt him.

Kenma was hurting _him_ without realizing it, but Kuroo was a masochist. He felt a thrill at the way Kenma slurred over the words, at the way he was pulling at the hairs at his nape. It was the same thrill he felt when Kenma accepted his offer and moved in with him, and he relished this familiar pain in his chest. Kenma wouldn’t remember. _He wouldn’t remember._

So Kuroo listened as Kenma babbled about his Tetsu and Kuroo tattooed his words onto his heart, so that when the anesthesia fizzled out of his system, he could remember Kenma’s sing-song voice, so different from his usual deadpan indifference.

And maybe, maybe, maybe, it would finally stop hurting so much. Kuroo wanted to feel as numb as Kenma’s tongue. He was sick of pining after someone who had zero interest in him.

Kenma had quieted some by the time Kuroo got to their door on the fifth floor. He’d thought the circular lights in the ceiling of the elevator were aliens and he was still mumbling about them as Kuroo fumbled with the lock one-handed.  

Kuroo was ambidextrous and Kenma was light — almost too light — in his arms, so unlocking the door shouldn't have been so difficult, but he hadn’t touched Kenma this much since Kenma sprained his ankle rolling out of bed. It was about a month after he moved in, and Kuroo had to carry him from their room to his car.

Kenma was not free with touch, and Kuroo knew Kenma wouldn’t have allowed this much physical contact if he weren’t under the influence. _It’s just the anesthesia._

Nudging the door open with his foot, Kuroo stepped inside; he kicked off his shoes and headed for Kenma’s room.

“No, I want to sleep in Kuro’s bed,” Kenma whined. "It's bigger and it smells like him. Smells so gooooooood."

Kuroo obliged wordlessly, heart still hammering. All he had to do was move him to his own bed before he woke up. Kenma wouldn’t remember.

He groped the wall as he searched for the light switch in his room. He stepped over piles of clothes he had strewn all over the floor, careful not to jostle Kenma, and stopped at the foot of the ladder that led to a small loft, which was where he’d tucked his bed.

The ladder wasn’t tall, but Kuroo went up backwards, using his back to brace himself as he carried Kenma to the top. He scooted back and then stood up, laying Kenma longways across the bed. With his hands now free, he arranged his mountain of pillows so that Kenma could lie upright. He picked Kenma up again, and when he tried to lay him down against the pillows, Kenma clung to him.

“Where’s Kuro?” he demanded. “Can you tell him I love him? Like, a lot.”

_Ouch._

“I’m right here, kitten.” Kuroo swallowed, willing Kenma to understand. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

Kenma snickered. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Kuroo was leaning over Kenma, whose iron-grip on his forearm forced him to stay put, inches from his face.

“If you’re Kuro, then that means I love you.” Kenma’s lips tugged up into a smile, the fuzzy gauze making his attempt to grin all the more comical, and this time it was Kuroo who laughed.

Kenma stared and Kuroo took a deep breath. _He wouldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember._

“I love you too, kitten.”

With his words, Kenma released him and turned away. Kuroo straightened, then sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Was that the wrong thing to say?

Kenma faced Kuroo again and pulled at his lips. “I lied. Your hair isn’t ridiculous. It’s soft and fluffy and looking at it makes me feel warm. All of you makes me feel… warm.”

This was the most serious Kenma had been since they’d left the office. _But it was just the anesthesia talking._ Wasn’t it?

Kuroo hazarded a knuckle brush along Kenma’s brow. Kenma’s eyes fluttered shut, breaths deep and even. Kuroo tugged the ice pack from around his face — it wasn’t cold anymore — and felt a pang at how swollen his face was, knowing it would get worse within the next two days. He took off Kenma’s shoes and socks, and pulled the sheets up to Kenma’s chest, then silently left the room in search of squash.

He got lucky. There was enough that Kuroo could make a full pot of Kabocha soup, Kenma’s favorite. Kuroo made it for him so often that he no longer needed to consult his computer for recipes, adding his own ingredients to meet Kenma’s tastes.

Kuroo knew that he was just a gangly, overprotective best friend. But he couldn’t bear to let Kenma go because pain was better than emptiness. Having Kenma close enough to touch was a double-edged sword that twisted in his gut, not altogether unpleasantly.

 

*

 

Kenma was curled around Kuroo. In Kuroo’s bed. The two thoughts hit, sending a bolt of panic up Kuroo’s spine, as he turned to face Kenma, who was awake. Groggy and brow furrowed in pain.

Eyes of liquid gold bored into his. _Shit_.

“Kuro.” Kenma’s voice was ragged but even. “Why am I in bed. With you.”

His question did not sound like a question.

“I — you —” The words stuck in Kuroo’s throat as he disentangled himself from Kenma and the sheets and scrambled out of the bed.

“I dreamed about you.” Kenma hadn’t moved.

Kuroo just stared. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He’d seen how comfortable Kenma looked in his bed and couldn’t bring himself to move him. He hadn’t wanted Kenma to be alone. So he’d crawled in next to him, and now this.

Kenma continued, “I’m not in as much pain as I thought I would be in,” and raised his hands to his cheeks.

Finally, something Kuroo could respond to. “I made you the Kabocha and fed you some before I gave you the pain meds.” He left out the part about bringing him his blanket, which was twisted between Kenma’s legs.

“Oh. Thank you, Kuro. For everything.”

Kenma’s words somehow hurt more than his drug-induced confessions the night before. Kuroo made a noncommittal noise, waving off Kenma’s dry thanks. He rubbed the spot between his neck and his shoulder, where he felt a knot of pain from sleeping crooked.

“Your hair,” Kenma blurted, turning away as soon as the words were out. He twisted a strand of his own frizzy locks between his fingers.

Kuroo tried to rub his hair flat, his cheeks warm. “I’m gonna get some more sleep. On the couch. Holler or text if you need m— anything.”

He tossed Kenma his phone and left the room before Kenma could reply.

The couch was as cold and hard as his bed was warm and soft, but he told himself he only thought that because he’d been sharing his bed with Kenma.

 _He didn’t remember anything_ , Kuroo thought as he let sleep pull him back under. _He needs me, but he’d never say that, would he?_

Kuroo tried to think of nothing, but he kept seeing the eclipses of Kenma’s eyes.  

 

He awoke to a cold finger prodding him in the cheek.

Kuroo had raised a hand to grab the finger but stopped when he realized it was Kenma, who was crouching on the floor in front of him, face swollen and roots showing through his tumbleweed hair. He’d need a touch-up soon.

“I dreamed that you told me you loved me.” Kenma withdrew his finger, resting his hands on his knees and seeming to fold in on himself. He looked squirrelish, especially with his puffy cheeks.

Pain echoed in Kenma’s stony voice, and it glinted off his eyes, which were close, too close — pools of gold that Kuroo would drown in if he just leaned forward.

It wasn’t often that Kenma gave Kuroo his full attention. Kuroo felt like he was under a magnifying glass, and his response dried in his throat. At his silence, Kenma turned away, just as he’d turned away last night, his eyes shifting to some point across the room.

Kuroo felt the heat leave him and he realized that saying nothing was the safest option. He ventured, “I mean, it was just a dream, right?”

Kenma nearly cut him off. “Did I say anything weird last night?”

Kuroo was still lying down, and he threw an arm over his face so he couldn’t see Kenma avoiding his eyes.

“You said _you_ loved _me,_ ” he mumbled. The words fell from Kuroo’s lips like the last leaves of autumn, slow and dry and brittle.

“Kuro,” Kenma croaked, and Kuroo felt cold hands tugging at his arm, and Kuroo looked at Kenma, at his swollen cheeks and tangled hair badly in need of dye and the tears that were pooling in his eyes, eyes that were warm when the rest of his body was cool to the touch. Fire and ice.

Kuroo sat up, pulling Kenma up with him and into his lap, tucking his head under his chin. Kenma didn’t resist; he was too busy with the sobs wracking his chest.

“It hurts, it hurts,” Kenma said over and over, and Kuroo rubbed his arms in an attempt to warm him, muttering I know’s over the top of his head. It _did_ hurt. He savored being able to touch Kenma but ached because he knew it was a moment of weakness, likely to never happen again.

But the thought that Kenma had looked away not because he was disgusted with Kuroo but because he’d been holding back tears gave him a thrill of hope. It was tiny, but there.

“No, Kuro, it _hurts_.”

“Tell me what hurts, kitten.”

“Everything.” Kenma’s voice broke on the last syllable, and Kuroo shifted him so that his cheek wasn’t pressed against his chest. He felt so tiny, and he was shaking, and Kuroo hugged him tighter, risking a kiss to the top of his head.

“How can you be so kind and so cruel?” Kenma whispered, but when Kuroo asked him what he meant, he refused to elaborate.

“Alright, then, why don’t we get you cleaned up and then you can take something for the pain?” Kuroo said too loudly, still reeling from Kenma's question. How was he being cruel?

Kenma sniffled. “Fine.” A few strands of hair were stuck to his wet cheeks.

Kuroo carried him to the bathroom and deposited him just inside the door, turning to go to the kitchen, when he heard Kenma’s voice.

“You remember that I told you I loved you, but do you remember that you said it too?”

Kuroo froze mid step, but when he turned back, the bathroom door clicked shut. He heard the shower’s initial sputter, glued to the spot and unable to process what Kenma had asked.

_He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember._

But something felt different. He’d seen Kenma cry and he’d carried him more in the past 12 hours than he had in all the years he’d known him.

_But do you remember that you said it too?_

His heart thudding, Kuroo walked away from the bathroom to distance himself from his confusion. There was no way Kenma remembered anything. He didn’t even know how he’d gotten into Kuroo’s bed. So why did he keep asking weird questions?

Kenma took a while in the shower. Kuroo had some of the soup reheated and the pain medication ready by the time Kenma slumped out of the bathroom wearing a large towel around him like a cloak. Kuroo watched as Kenma passed his room and went inside Kuroo’s, came back out with one of Kuroo’s black long-sleeved shirts, and finally disappeared inside his room.

When he reappeared, hair dripping and shirtsleeves hanging past his fingertips, he made a beeline for the kitchen and snatched up the soup and medicine, which he set on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch.

Kuroo hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the counter, and Kenma hadn’t shown any indication that he’d seen him, so Kuroo started when Kenma spoke.

“I had to have a different procedure done a couple years back,” Kenma said slowly. He was facing away from Kuroo, toward the television. Kuroo could see his blank expression in the blackness of the screen. “I don’t know if you recall the three days I missed school, but that was when I found out that anesthesia numbs the pain but doesn’t really have any other effect on me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo realizes that what he thought was out of his reach was within his grasp all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh i am so profoundly sorry to keep everyone waiting. i decided that i would crank this out if it killed me and give everyone some closure. between uni and writer's block (dialogue is a bitch, ok) i couldnt find the words to end this right, and no matter how many times i opened the doc to finish it, i couldnt make it work. excuses aside, id like to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for being patient with me, for reading, for commenting, and for leaving kudos. each and every one means so so so much to me.

There are moments when time seems to freeze, moments captured in twinkling high-resolution. There are other moments when time drags, impossibly slow. Each lazy second taking an eternity.

This was neither. Kuroo felt like time had sped up, but backwards, like he was falling down a well of his own memories of the night before. Memories of Kenma saying “I love Kuro” over and over and over and over again. Of how serious Kenma had been when he told him that he made him feel warm.

A single memory, blisteringly clear, of an “I love you too, kitten” tumbling from his own lips.

He was numb; the only thing anchoring him was the feel of cold kitchen tile under his feet. His grip on his mug loosened and it slipped from his fingers, the shattered ceramic echoing the sound of memories as they clicked together in his mind. He thought, again, of Kenma’s eyes.

Kenma’s eyes. It had always been in Kenma’s eyes.

They’d been lucid, hadn’t they, behind a veil of conjured bleariness.

They’d shifted away from him twice, and Kuroo hadn’t considered the significance, hadn’t considered that the two instances were connected, only that it had hurt _him_ that Kenma couldn’t look his way.

They’d darkened so much so that they’d turned into eclipses, Kenma’s gaze unblinking and full of meaning.

They’d been filled with a pain that Kuroo now realized had nothing to do with the excision of his wisdom teeth.

Kenma’s eyes had pooled with tears that flowed from a part of him that Kuroo hadn’t known existed.   

Kuroo could feel the languid silence as it stretched between them, Kenma facing away from him on the couch and he in the kitchen, like it was a thing that would attack him if he rubbed it the wrong way. He couldn’t move. He was too afraid of what Kenma was implying to make the strides to their small living room and look Kenma in the face, to look into eyes that had held far too much meaning and yet not enough.

He had always been the type to need things spelled out for him.

“Kenma, are you saying that —”

“Yes, Kuroo, I remember everything.” The subtle shift in how Kenma addressed Kuroo unnerved him.

Kenma twisted to face Kuroo, one arm thrown over the back of the couch and his stare like an accusation.

“I meant every word I said.” Kenma’s voice was even and his face was blank, but he might as well have shouted.

The bitterness warped his voice into something nasty. Hostile. Made his words sound ironic and untrue.

It was a tone Kuroo wasn’t equipped to handle, not coming from Kenma. He didn’t want to fight with him — it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Nervousness almost made him bite his tongue, but he managed to force his words into existence. “Kenma, I was under the impression that you didn’t know what you were saying. Because, you know. Drugs.”

“You, apparently, would rather spare my feelings than admit the truth.”

Kuroo bristled. “A sober ‘I love you’ would have sufficed. It wasn’t exactly flattering to think you’d have to be high off your ass to say you love me.”

If Kuroo was a coward, then so was Kenma. He hadn’t made the leap either, and could’ve.

Kuroo had waited and waited for the butterflies to _give it a fucking rest already jesus christ this wasn’t high school anymore_ , not knowing that he could’ve made their parallel lines intersect.   

And knowing that there’d been so much wasted time between them left a sour feeling in his gut and a new hurt in his chest, right next to the old one. He tried to ignore it but it felt like trying to will gravity off or make the earth reverse its rotation or force the north poles of two magnets together.

Kuroo saw how Kenma had hoped it would play out: He’d use anesthesia as an excuse to confess, then when Kuroo admitted his feelings, Kenma would tell him about his dream and Kuroo would tell him _no, kitten, it wasn’t a dream..._

“In every look you throw my way, in every brush of your fingers that you think I don’t notice… Even if I was blind I would be able see that you love me. It would be impossible for me to _not_ see it.” The words drifted off Kenma’s lips in a whisper that crescendoed into a half-shout: “I can’t believe you tried to hide what you felt for _years_!”

Kenma’s voice was a snapped rubber band that reverberated in Kuroo’s skull. Kuroo wasn’t sure if Kenma should be talking this much, should be yelling, wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept that _Kenma loved him back_. Kenma loved him back.

He broke away from Kenma’s stare and clenched his fists, steeling himself as he walked toward the couch, his steps deliberate. He stopped behind the couch and Kenma had to crane his neck to reconnect their gazes.

Kuroo hated when Kenma was upset, hated that this time, it was because of _him_. And he was annoyed with himself. All his carefully maintained aloofness, which he hadn’t maintained as carefully as he’d thought, had backfired. Kenma had seen right through the cracks in his facade with the same piercing eyes that were now as wide and vulnerable as his own.

He loved Kenma. The feeling was sun-warm and ocean-kissed and moon-bright. It was gentle and held him steady.

He couldn’t imagine being all that for Kenma, but he didn’t have to. He had been, already was, would be always.

Kenma was simultaneously fathoms away and _not close enough_ , so Kuroo reached out and cupped Kenma’s chin, barely brushing the tender skin, thumb whispering against gentle curve of his cheekbone.

“Kenma. I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“For what, Kuro.” Kenma didn’t seem to have any fight left. At Kuroo’s touch, he looked to the side, a blush flowering across his cheeks.  

They counted seconds with their breaths. Kuroo said nothing more, willing Kenma to read his mind like he always did and _understand_.

Finally, Kenma leaned into Kuroo’s palm before turning to fully face him, his knees sinking into the couch cushions. He still wasn’t tall enough to reach eye-level, the top of his head lightly tickling Kuroo’s chin. He looked up into Kuroo’s half-lidded eyes and brushed his fingers against the scruffiness of Kuroo’s jaw, and pulled him closer.

Kuroo breathed against Kenma’s chapped lips before pressing against them lightly and brushing back and forth, the friction making them both shiver.

Kenma pulled back and raised a finger run it down the bridge of Kuroo’s nose. “It’s not your fault. Well, it’s mostly your fault, but not entirely.”

“Kenma.”

“The roundabout way I went about this didn’t help.” Kenma’s voice was barely audible.

“Thank you.”

“But, really, Kuro. We’ve been together forever… Didn’t you think we’d end up here?”

“I’m not an optimist, kitten.” Kuroo’s smile was sad. There were so many reasons he’d never said anything. He couldn’t stand rejection, and the what if’s sat on his chest like lead weight. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if Kenma thought he was weird or only agreed to be with him out of pity or any of the other reasons why it was useless?

Kenma fisted his hand in Kuroo’s shirt. “I wouldn’t have followed you after high school if I didn’t want to be _with_ you.”

Heart thrumming, Kuroo said, “I was the one who suggested you move in with me, though.”

“And I said yes.”

“It was my idea, Kenma.”

“I would have followed you anyway." 

“If I hadn’t suggested you —”

“Kuro. I would have followed you to the ends of the earth.”

Kuroo shook his head, detaching Kenma from his shirt so he could walk around the couch and flop down — he was still all arms and legs and _lank_ — next to Kenma, who turned and sank down beside him. Kuroo tucked him under his arm, and stopped himself from humming with pleasure when Kenma snuggled against his chest.

“I’m not mad because you didn’t confess.” Kenma sighed. “I’m mad because you forget that we’re both adults. You decided we wouldn’t work without considering how I felt, just like how you pick the course when we’re playing Mario Kart and you think I’m not looking.”

“You knew?!” Kuroo hissed.

“Kuro, I’m not blind. We’ve been through this. I’m... Hyperaware of everything when it comes to you.”

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” Kuroo blurted.

He couldn’t, though, not while Kenma was still healing. So instead their hands traveled.

Each of their touches felt new but right; they’d both been holding back but they were still attuned to each other, skin waiting to meet skin. Kenma sat up and threw a leg over Kuroo’s legs to straddle him, his fingers gliding through Kuroo’s hair, just as gentle as when he carried him from the car but with a new urgency.

Kenma’s boldness made Kuroo breathless. Kuroo massaged his back, kneading in soothing circles, in disbelief that he had a person so perfect in his lap and under his fingertips.

Kenma pressed his fingers into the soft curling hairs of Kuroo’s nape and brought their foreheads together, slow-blinking with contentedness and fatigue. “I still ended up saying it first.”

“Did not,” Kuroo said, half-joking. The pout that sprung to Kenma’s lips was worth the lie.

“Yes I did.”

“Did not.”

“I _did_!” Kenma wiggled his hips to punctuate his words. The friction made Kuroo’s cheeks flush.

“Yeah, but you cheated.” Kuroo laughed, then shyness replaced his mirth. “Would you… Sayitforrealthistime?” 

“What?”

“Can you say it again?” Kuroo’s voice was raspy, and it wasn’t that he needed to hear the words to believe them — it had been in Kenma’s eyes all along — he just wanted to experience echoes of pleasure instead of pain at his words. He felt his blush wander from his cheeks to his ears to his neck, the heat burning a path that led straight to his heart.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” Kenma whispered. His pupils were blown huge again, but this time with affection and desire rather than intoxication. “I’ve loved you for a while now. I can’t tell you exactly when I… Fell, but part of me always _knew_ , you know?”

Kuroo didn’t have to tell Kenma that he didn’t know, couldn’t know, that he’d stumble across this rare happiness that had his eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears.

“It’s okay. I knew for both of us.” Kenma brushed Kuroo’s bangs back, determined to look him in the eye as he brought his lips down, their open-eyed kiss sloppy because of Kenma’s soreness but still perfect.

Kuroo felt the heat return to his cheeks and reined in the sudden, intense desire to tease Kenma’s lips open with his tongue. Instead, he did what was probably the most difficult thing he’d ever done: He pulled back, determined to not aggravate Kenma's... Mouth situation.

“I thought I said no kissing.”

“Oops.”

“I love you too, Kenma.” The words felt liberating as they floated from Kuroo’s lips. The sensation was a bit like falling but without the fear, like he knew he’d land on his feet.

Kuroo finally let himself love his best friend. He finally let himself be loved back.  

*

Kenma’s feet were in his lap, and Kuroo tried to not let his wiggling toes distract him from the ocean documentary.

Considerate as usual, Kenma had muted his DS, but the faint _tap-tap_ of buttons and little frustrated huffs still reached Kuroo’s ears.

A lopsided grin plastered on his face, Kuroo readjusted, pushing Kenma’s feet off and folding his body on the couch so that he could bury his face in Kenma’s stomach. His soft-worn hoodie smelled like home, and Kuroo nuzzled into the warmth.

He heard a sigh and the snap of a DS closing and then felt fingers on his scalp. Hands traveled from his hair to his shoulders to his upper back, kneading bliss into his muscles.

Kuroo was giddy, almost drunk with the notion that he could touch and be touched like this.

“Are you okay, Kuro?” Kenma’s voice rumbled, like a purr.

Kuroo groaned; Kenma had found a sore spot, probably from the crazy positions Kuroo slept in. He liked pillows, had six of them, and couldn’t help but silently admit that Kenma was right that too much of something wasn’t a good thing.

“I’m as okay as one can be,” he said into the softness of Kenma’s belly. He inhaled and stretched his arms, settling his hands on Kenma’s shoulders. He looked up from under his bangs and saw that Kenma was watching him with unadulterated tenderness, eyes half closed. It had only been a week, and Kenma’s looks and his shockingly assertive touch still left him breathless with disbelief.

Kenma tipped his head, considering the pile of lanky muscle and black clothing in his lap. He brought his hands to Kuroo’s cheeks, squishing them gently. “Oh?”

“I’m very happy.” Kuroo’s words were garbled because Kenma pushed his cheeks together right before he replied.

Impatient, Kuroo rose up on his elbows, his arms trapping Kenma’s hips between them. He buried his head under Kenma’s hoodie, ignoring the indignant _oof, Kuro!_ His hands rested on Kenma’s sides and he dotted kisses on Kenma’s belly, relishing the slight give under his lips.

It didn’t take long for Kuroo to feel too hot and too breathless, so he pulled back and raised a hand to pat down the black mess on top of his head, stopping midway when he saw Kenma’s expression.

Yeah, it had only been a week, and Kuroo still wasn’t used to not bottling up his feelings and desires. It felt weird to brush his fingers against the small of Kenma’s back when he passed him in the kitchen, and he’d lain awake long after Kenma had fallen asleep pressed against back when Kenma announced that they were “sharing a bed now” two nights ago. _“Kuro, it’s about time and I’m done waiting.”_ It was weird, yes, but also utterly normal.

They’d shifted past that platonic closeness and found an easy balance between what had always been and what they’d both wanted since forever ago.

It had only been a week, and Kenma’s cheeks had long since returned to their familiar, non-swollen plumpness, and his eyes no longer spontaneously watered with pain. Kuroo looked up to find Kenma’s cheeks flushed with heat, no they were scorching with flame, the back of his hand pressed against his lips to… Stifle? To stifle his reaction?

Kuroo stilled, his voice a near croak. “Kitten, did I do something wrong? Did you not want me to —” His question died off, the guilt clawing up his throat.

Kenma's gaze was fixed on the TV, which was still showing the documentary, and his eyes flicked to Kuroo’s before flicking back away again. His breathing was short and heavy.

“I want,” he began, but stopped when his voice came out breathy and unsteady. He started again, his hand still covering his mouth, eyes still focused on anything but Kuroo. “I want more.”

It was like something in Kuroo snapped, and he stood up and brought Kenma with him, pulling him up and holding him to his chest, and Kenma unconsciously hooked his ankles behind Kuroo’s back, allowing him to carry him to _their_ bed, now, he’d made that clear, and gently place him down before pushing him back and assaulting his face with a flurry of kisses and it was hot, so so deliciously fucking hot, and why are we still wearing clothes and...

 _Oh_. Oh.

Kuroo’s hand was at the waistband of Kenma’s sweats, they were tugging, insistent, and Kenma pushed back, flipped them so that he was on top now, and he was pulling at Kuroo’s stupid pants, he wanted them off and didn’t care where they went, so long as they were no longer in the way, wanted to _taste_ Kuroo, no, “ _Tetsurou_ ,” he moaned, hands dragging at skin and clothes, impatient and needy.

Kenma forced himself to slow down, and he hovered over Kuroo, and he dropped down to kiss him, mouth open and tongue searching, his hair falling forward and tickling Kuroo’s cheeks. Their tongues slid together, wet and slick and soft, so soft. He pulled off, a string of spit tethering them, and Kenma leaned to nuzzle into Kuroo’s neck, poking his nose against his collarbone, wanting his stupid shirt off too.

Kuroo’s hands were on his waist, a gentle grip that still held him firmly in place, but his hands moved to push up Kenma’s hoodie, a silent encouragement to take it off. Kenma was immensely glad their minds were in the same place.

Once all their clothes were scattered in random places on the floor, desk, on top of the dresser, and hanging from the ceiling fan, they lied like that, savoring the first-time feeling of flesh against flesh. Kuroo’s harder edges fit against Kenma’s softer curves; they melded together, fused with heat.

Raising a hand to brush Kenma’s hair behind his ear, Kuroo looked up at his best-friend, his lover, and saw a flush that spread halfway down his chest and more than likely mirrored his own.

“I love you, Kenma. Ow, shit, go slower, love.”

“No, I love you. And I'm sorry, I'm trying, it's just —”

 

… … …

 

“I love you more.”

“Impossible. _Shit_. I love you _most_.”

“I love you times infinity… Right there!”

 

… … ….

 

“I love you times infinity squared.”

“Impossible. Infinity times infinity is still infinity. Fuckfuckfuck.”

 

… … …

 

“Yeah, you’re right. An infinity doesn’t even begin to encompass what I feel anyway.”

There was a pause, measured in heavy breaths.

“Tetsurou, I love you.”

“I know, Kenma. I love you too.”

“Ha. I win.”

“Everything is a game to you.”

“No, not you. Never you.” A sigh.

“I know, silly kitten. Hey, Kenma?"

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

"Kenma?"

"Yes, Kuro."

"Why didn't you tell me about your acting skills."

"Shut up."

"I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ohmykokuroo.tumblr.com) || [other tumblr](http://zeppellii.tumblr.com) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/lovedeluxxxe)


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